“I wouldn’t know, my sweet.”
Eloise nodded. “Why is it so quiet? Generally one of my brothers is here stomping about.”
It was quiet. They’d been at Oswell House for just under a fortnight, and she’d already become accustomed to the different energy that accompanied them. The air of barely restrained chaos. “First, I need to ask if you something.”
“Of course.”
“Is anything missing aside from your green silk?”
Eloise’s brows furrowed. “Have we been robbed? Oh, I hope they didn’t get the pearl earbobs that Papa sent me for my birthday.” She turned, starting up the stairs again.
Francesca caught hold of her wrist. “No, we weren’t robbed. You were … borrowed from.”
“They didn’t put my dress on Rory, did they?” She looked over her mother’s shoulder, then blew out her breath. “Thank goodness. Who borrowed what from me, then?”
“I believe Niall borrowed some of your clothes and necessaries for Amelia-Rose.”
She watched her daughter’s frown deepen, then clear with wide-eyed understanding. “He—they—Oh, they didn’t, did they?” she gasped, putting both hands over her mouth, but not quickly enough to cover her delighted grin.
“No one will confirm anything for me, but yes, I believe they are on their way to Gretna Green right now. They certainly couldn’t get anyone to marry them here, not without her parents’ permission.”
Eloise bounced up and down on her toes. “Oh, I want to tell everyone! I knew Niall would figure something out. And she agreed? But she loves London so!” Her expression sagged a little. “She’ll be ruined, won’t she? No one will ask her to parties.”
“We will ask her,” Francesca assured her. “And it may not be as bad as all that, if I have any say in matters. Which I believe I do. Or I will, anyway.”
“Well, now I want to see what he borrowed. I hope he didn’t take the yellow one. That would not be flattering with Amelia-Rose’s coloring.” Halfway up the stairs, Eloise turned around again, descended, and gave her mother a sound hug. “Please do have a say in matters. I don’t want to lose my brothers again. Not any of them.”
“Neither do I, my dear.”
Below, someone knocked at the front door. Smythe was in the pantry with half the kitchen staff trying to re-estimate yet again how much food the household needed to stock with eight additional people—very large men, rather—beneath the roof, so she returned to the foyer and pulled open the door herself.
A ramrod-straight young woman with black hair pulled into a painfully tight bun looked back at her and blinked. “My lady. I didn’t expect y—”
“You’re Amelia-Rose’s companion, aren’t you?” Francesca interrupted, alarm quaking through her bones. “Come in at once.” Half pulling the woman into the foyer, she glanced outside and then shut the door. “What’s happened? Has something gone wrong?”
“I’m Jane Bansil, my lady,” the companion said, dipping a curtsy. “And ‘gone wrong’ depends, I suppose, on your idea of what ‘wrong’ is.”
“Smythe!” Francesca called, guiding her visitor into the morning room. A footman appeared, and she requested tea, Eloise, and to be otherwise left alone.
“Thank you, my lady,” Jane said, taking a seat primly on the front edge of the couch. “I … Your son suggested that if I were to come here, you would aid me in perhaps finding another position. I do not think I’ll be welcomed back into my aunt’s household after today.”
“Of course I will. But you must tell me what happened.”
“Your son, Niall, asked me to do just that.” She folded her hands onto her lap. “Lord Hurst’s coach arrived this afternoon to take Amelia-Rose to luncheon, except it wasn’t Lord Hurst inside it. It was Niall.”
Niall had stolen Hurst’s coach? No one had mentioned that bit of skulduggery to her—and she could see why. Good heavens. “And then?” Francesca prompted.
“He asked Amelia-Rose if she would accompany him to Gretna Green, where they would marry. She agreed.” Jane sat back a little. “Your son was very concerned that my cousin have the option to change her mind if she thought the scandal would be too much to bear. I was therefore to accompany them to bring some propriety to the journey, to give her a way to back out if she changed her mind. In my opinion, however, Amelia-Rose needed to make the decision on its own merits. I therefore declined to flee with them.”
Eloise entered the room, the tea tray in her arms. “Jane?” she said, kicking the door closed and setting the tray on the table between them. “What in the world’s happened now?”
“An elopement to Gretna Green, as I suspected,” Francesca returned. “And a new houseguest. Jane will be staying with us for a time.”
“Oh, was it romantic? Did he propose? Did she cry?” Eloise asked, pouring tea despite a distinctive shake to her fingers. “I just want to jump up and down and cheer, and at the same time hit Niall for not telling me what he was up to.”
“He didn’t precisely propose, but it was definitely understood that a wedding waited at the end of the journey,” Jane answered, accepting the cup of tea with ridiculous care. “Thank you.”
The poor girl looked as if no one had bothered to offer to pour her tea in a very long time, if ever. Knowing Victoria Baxter as she’d come to, Francesca wasn’t surprised. The woman attempted to rule over anyone who as much as dared exist in her presence. She would have to be dealt with. If Amelia-Rose couldn’t return to London, than Niall wouldn’t do so. And that was unacceptable.
“My dear,” Francesca said aloud, “I would very much like if you would tell me everything you observed between my son and Miss Baxter, and between Miss Baxter and her parents. I would find it quite … helpful, I think.”
Jane looked into her teacup for a moment. “I could manage that, I think, my lady.”
Before they could begin, the front door thudded open, swiftly followed by a low-toned exchange, and then the morning room door opening. “There ye are,” Aden said, out of breath, disheveled, and grinning.
Francesca stood. “Are they on their way?”
Her middle son lifted an eyebrow. “Ye’re supposed to be up in arms, I reckon, lamenting yer youngest boy’s lack of good character.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. What did you come in here to tell me?”
He stepped farther into the room, shutting the door behind him. “Coll and I are going to be away for a few days.” Aden glanced at Jane, paused, then gave her a sharper look. “Werenae ye to be somewhere else?”
“She declined to join your brother and Miss Baxter. Which I believe to be a good thing.”
“As ye say. I’ll bring ye back a signed copy of the marriage certificate, so ye’ll have proof that one of us has done as ye commanded, my lady.” With a bow he put his hand on the door handle.
“Aden.”
“Aye?”
“What of Hurst?”
“We came back to deliver Kelpie and the other mount, màthair. Last I saw Hurst, he was hailing a hack and yelling at his mostly naked driver to make his own way home, the bastard. He wasnae happy, and I’ve nae idea what he means to do next. Another reason for Coll and me to be elsewhere, I reckon.”
For the moment putting aside the fact that her third son had just called her “mother,” Francesca turned to Jane. “Do you have any idea what Hurst might do?”
The companion pursed her lips. “My aunt offered him a generous dowry to wed Amelia-Rose. A very generous one. He may go after it—and her—or he may send the authorities after them. I doubt he will do nothing.”
“I had that feeling,” Aden commented. “Coll could make a lion piss itself, but that sack of oil had something keeping his spine straight.”
“How much of a head start does Niall have?” Eloise asked, her hands over her heart.